d of that. Bring Mother
her stocking, Polly; and Jack, get mine for me. We'll sit down and take
our time about it.

No fair, Jack, _cries_ POLLY. You're peeking into your stocking.
I've only felt of mine.

But my thing is in a box, _says_ JACK, so that I can't see anything
anyway. Oh, let's begin quick.

All right, _says_ FATHER, and ladies first. Mother, you lead off.

Shall I? _says_ MOTHER, _feeling her stocking_. Oh, I know
what this round thing is: it's an orange. No, it isn't either: it's a
ball of knitting cotton. Just what I want, and the very kind I use. Now,
Polly, it's your turn to see what is in the top of yours.

I'm sure I know what mine is, _says_ POLLY, _and then as she
draws it out._ Yes, it is: it's a doll.

Why, Polly, _cries_ JACK, it's the very same doll that we--

Hush! _says_ POLLY _quickly_. Yes, it's the very same kind of
a doll I asked for. See, Mother, she has a pink sash. Isn't she lovely?

Now, Jack, _says_ FATHER, I think it is your turn next. What is in
that box of yours? Slate pencils, probably.

Slate pencils! _says_ JACK, _indignantly_. You know I didn't
want slate pencils.

But are you sure you will get just what you want? _asks_ FATHER.

Yes, indeed I am, _answers_ JACK, _pulling out the box and
opening it_, and there it is--a soldier. I knew it would be that,
because I saw it when--

Hush! _says_ POLLY _quickly_. Father, it is now your turn at last.

And I know all about mine, _says_ FATHER. It is soft and squashy,
so of course it's a sponge. Now why do you suppose Santa Claus brought
me a sponge? for my old one is quite good enough.

But it isn't a sponge at all, _cries_ JACK, _who has been peeking
into the little bundle_.

Not a sponge? _says_ FATHER. But what is it, then? _He opens the
paper_. A pair of warm gloves, I declare--just what I need. Well,
Santa Claus is a great old fellow, and no mistake.

_Mother has been turning her head toward the window, as though she
were listening to something, and now she says:_

Hush! Is that singing that I hear, far away?

_They all listen, and sure enough from some distance can be heard the
sound of singing voices. The children, nodding their heads, show that
they hear it._

What can it be? _says_ MOTHER. Why, I know; it's the Christmas
Waits, of course, singing carols from house to house.

Oh, I wish they would sing in our street, _cries_ POLLY, _and
runs to the window. Then she exclaims,_ There they are: they are